(no subject)
"The main source of his apathy was caused by DSALJKASDASHLSADDDDDDD," my monitor prominently displayed. This was because my head was firmly resting on the keyboard sitting in front me. I found the irony in this statement both shocking and degrading. To be completely honest, I wasn't even sure what I was writing about, but I knew it had to get done that day.
My friend, Annelise, leaned over and tried to pronounce it, but got caught at the "LJK."
"Maybe you should try writing real words," she suggested.
The two of us were sitting in the school's library, trying to finish all of the random assignments we needed to do to finish on time for the semester. Alright, so that's a bit of an embellishment- Annelise was finished everything, on time and perfectly. I was doing overdue homework, and Annelise was looking online for the answer key for the test we both had in math later that day.
What are friends for, right?
She'd been hounding me for the past two hours to get up and do something about my homework situation. I was caught up in everything except for my English class-Don't look at me like that, it's not my fault. All semester, I've been trying to ask questions to clarify. I guess it's when there's forty-five people fighting for a seat, it gets difficult to remember to answer the questions. Or to mark tests. Or to follow up on assignments. Maybe I'm just a high-maintenance high school student, wanting individual attention, or something.
Finally, I sat up. Annelise eyed me, and then burst into laughter. Instant-karma finally kicked in, and the librarian gave her a glare and told her to quiet down. Muffling her laughter behind a hand, she told me that I had imprints of the keyboard on my forehead. Unfortunately, the words implied on my forehead wouldn't get the work done. I sighed dramatically, and tried to get back to working.
You know when bad things happen to good people? That's what I consider my English class. I figure that it's difficult enough to survive in a regular high school, but for those students with that extra "kick of survival," there's the advanced program. Due to mass funding cuts, there's only one teacher for the ninety-odd students that want to take the course. Thanks to someone with a sick and terrible personality, all the students that want to take the class have to do it within the two organized class times.
The classroom is on the second floor of the main section of the building. Sound confusing? It gets worse. The original section of the school was built in 1905, and added two other sections in 1940, and again in 1960. Fortunately, the contractors decided that they didn't want a school that was easy to navigate in, so it's a five-story-split-level with no air conditioning. And they wonder why students feel unsatisfied!
Annelise dug through my backpack and pulled out my textbook, Fred. Normal people don't usually name their textbooks, but Fred makes it a special case. Whoever used my textbook the year before me spilled something in the back cover, and left it under a heating lamp. Fred is the mould in the back of the book that ate the index. Sometimes, if I work with my textbook sitting open, I swear I get dizzy spells.
It's hard to focus with Annelise's death-glare grazing my head, but I managed to get something done. I guess I'm able to revel in the joys of both friendship and overworked teachers: With one, I get my work done, and with the other, I get graded based on my thesis statement.
So that's what I ended up doing. Plagiarized most of my work from Annelise, and changed a few major sentences to make it look as if I cared enough for it. My teacher never noticed, and Annelise made sure that I understood the lessons I was supposed to be learning. I did end up learning everything I was supposed to, as well as the most important lesson to be absorbed during high school: How to beat the system.
My friend, Annelise, leaned over and tried to pronounce it, but got caught at the "LJK."
"Maybe you should try writing real words," she suggested.
The two of us were sitting in the school's library, trying to finish all of the random assignments we needed to do to finish on time for the semester. Alright, so that's a bit of an embellishment- Annelise was finished everything, on time and perfectly. I was doing overdue homework, and Annelise was looking online for the answer key for the test we both had in math later that day.
What are friends for, right?
She'd been hounding me for the past two hours to get up and do something about my homework situation. I was caught up in everything except for my English class-Don't look at me like that, it's not my fault. All semester, I've been trying to ask questions to clarify. I guess it's when there's forty-five people fighting for a seat, it gets difficult to remember to answer the questions. Or to mark tests. Or to follow up on assignments. Maybe I'm just a high-maintenance high school student, wanting individual attention, or something.
Finally, I sat up. Annelise eyed me, and then burst into laughter. Instant-karma finally kicked in, and the librarian gave her a glare and told her to quiet down. Muffling her laughter behind a hand, she told me that I had imprints of the keyboard on my forehead. Unfortunately, the words implied on my forehead wouldn't get the work done. I sighed dramatically, and tried to get back to working.
You know when bad things happen to good people? That's what I consider my English class. I figure that it's difficult enough to survive in a regular high school, but for those students with that extra "kick of survival," there's the advanced program. Due to mass funding cuts, there's only one teacher for the ninety-odd students that want to take the course. Thanks to someone with a sick and terrible personality, all the students that want to take the class have to do it within the two organized class times.
The classroom is on the second floor of the main section of the building. Sound confusing? It gets worse. The original section of the school was built in 1905, and added two other sections in 1940, and again in 1960. Fortunately, the contractors decided that they didn't want a school that was easy to navigate in, so it's a five-story-split-level with no air conditioning. And they wonder why students feel unsatisfied!
Annelise dug through my backpack and pulled out my textbook, Fred. Normal people don't usually name their textbooks, but Fred makes it a special case. Whoever used my textbook the year before me spilled something in the back cover, and left it under a heating lamp. Fred is the mould in the back of the book that ate the index. Sometimes, if I work with my textbook sitting open, I swear I get dizzy spells.
It's hard to focus with Annelise's death-glare grazing my head, but I managed to get something done. I guess I'm able to revel in the joys of both friendship and overworked teachers: With one, I get my work done, and with the other, I get graded based on my thesis statement.
So that's what I ended up doing. Plagiarized most of my work from Annelise, and changed a few major sentences to make it look as if I cared enough for it. My teacher never noticed, and Annelise made sure that I understood the lessons I was supposed to be learning. I did end up learning everything I was supposed to, as well as the most important lesson to be absorbed during high school: How to beat the system.